Blindman's Bluff
by DagonSt
Summary: Dexter, Debra, and hard conversations.  Spoilers through the end of Season Five, slightly AU post-season Four.  Rated M for Deb's mouth.
1. Calm After The Storm

"Dexter, are you okay?" Dexter is washing up. He isn't going anywhere. Reliable Dexter won't abandon Harrison's bottles, and can't pretend they're too captivating to talk to his sister. So here I am, trying to start a serious conversation that neither of us want to have.

"I'm fine, Deb."

"Because you shouldn't be. Rita's been dead four days, and you act like you're ready to pick up a box of donuts for work. You're freaking me out."

He looks over his shoulder. "Is there a mourning period for donuts?" It's a joke, but it isn't. He really doesn't know.

"Yes!" Oops, forgot to be quiet. "For donuts, for competence, for - for the fucking _dishes,_ Dexter!"

"Sorry, Deb." He doesn't turn around again. I know he hates talking feelings, but fucking Jesus. I'm not done rolling my eyes at his back before he adds. "I guess I'm too thrown by Rita's death to fake normal human grieving. That's going to be awkward."

I must have breathed. Must have - something. Because he turns, and stares at me. As frozen as I feel. "I said that out loud."

"No fucking shit." And I'm so fucking sorry, Dex, but I'm glad for the counter between us. I know I _know _you're not Rudy and never could be and - just that sudden ice.

And he's just - standing there, watching me freak, trying to reason out how to fix it. My clueless brother, completely out of his depth and not even trying. I know I shouldn't, but: "What does that mean, _fake?_ Rita's dead and your son's in there sleeping, and you're going to tell me you don't fucking feel _anything_?"

"It sounded less sociopathic in my head." I want it to be Dexter's real voice again, apologetic quirky and deadpan, so you have to decide if he's being funny or just weird. But it rings hollow, like he doesn't even care what he sounds like. But I do.

"Shit. Jesus fuck no. I didn't mean -"

"It's okay. We're both tired. We should just -"

"You loved Rita, Dex. You love the kids. What kind of sociopath has a family anyway?"

"Trinity."

And he just - folds. Before I can even - like Trinity triggered everything he wasn't handling. (Or a bullet, right through the heart.)

I drag him outside so we don't wake the baby, and he slides down the wall, hand clamped over his mouth. I grip his shoulder and force his head down and start saying things to distract him. That he'd better fucking tell me he's alright, and that we're going to catch the sick bastard and fry him, and please don't you dare panic-attack yourself into the hospital? Breathe, Dexter.

I'm fucking terrified, and fucking relieved. Dexter the Hollow Man is... wrong. I wish I hadn't told him about Brian Moser, so he couldn't make that jump from our family to Trinity's home-sweet-hell. I wish I didn't know, so I could help my own damn brother without my brain making these fucking obscene connections.

At least panic is a Dexter thing. A weird, world-upside-down Dexter thing. At least, he's done it before. When Dad died, and that bloodbath hotel room.

"Sorry I'm being such a spaz tonight," he says - how often have I said that to him? "It's really not like me."

"You're allowed, Dex." Encouraged. "It's normal." I, your only sister, approve of you breaking into pieces when horrible things happened. I think Rudy would have liked the other way, iced over and dead. Was that what he was trying to do, killing me? "I can't imagine the fucking Ice Truck Killer losing his shit like that." It's a joke, but it isn't.

Dexter... actually thinks about it. Fuck, it wasn't something he should have to think about. "You never saw him when his plans weren't going well."

"I saw how he killed himself, Dex."

"Right. The suicide." Dex closes his his eyes, then they snap open. "I won't do that, Deb. I won't kill myself."

"You sure fucking better not. You -" I'm about to remind him again about the kids, but that's what freaked him out. That there are sick fucks like Trinity, like Brian Moser, who should have taken themselves out first. "You're not allowed, Dex. You talk to me. Okay?"

He looks at me. Nods, after a minute, like it's something else he had to think over. "Okay." He almost manages a smile. "I decide to make the world a better place, I'll talk to you first. Promise."

It's a joke, but it's awful. I punch him in the shoulder for it. "C'mon, inside. You didn't finish the dishes."


	2. Destruction of Evidence

Debra strikes as soon as the kids are in bed. I can see it coming - I always can. But I think it's about Aster, until she drops the photograph on the table.

"What is this, Dexter?"

"Uh, a picture." Of Laura Moser. My mother. Resting peacefully in my desk drawer, or so I thought. What this is, is not good.

"Her name is Laura. You want to talk now, Dexter?"

"I really don't, Debra." Someday, maybe, this will be a real interrogation. Probably I will talk, then. Now, I'd rather she tell me how much she knows and what she wants to hear. I pull out a chair and sit.

"Okay. I'll fucking tell you what this is." She chooses the chair at the head, not opposite, and briefs me on what she was doing in my desk in the first place and all the connections she's made. I should have shredded the photo, or found someplace safe for it. But there's no safe place for Laura Moser in Dexter Morgan's life.

Deb wraps up: "Did I miss anything, Dexter?"

"You're good, Deb." Do I tell her I hadn't connected Laura to Brian the Ice-Truck Killer? But the only way to Laura - if you're not hunting down Dad's girlfriends - is through Brian.

"Want to explain now?"

I still don't. "Rudy - Brian - whoever - he said we were brothers. I recognized the name in the files you gave me, and looked her up."

"And?" What else does she want? Should there be something else?

"And." I shrug. That's all there is. "I thought you might go back through the files, and didn't want you to just stumble across that."

"Dexter, you destroyed a police file!"

"She's been dead for thirty years."

Her face screws up with irritation. I must have a point. "Dex, if Brian Moser said that, why the fuck didn't you tell someone?" Cursing is probably a good sign.

"I didn't want to think about it. It was... a door I wasn't sure I wanted to open." Because behind it is a lethal injection for the Bay Harbor Butcher. I wonder if there's any way to get caught without getting pinned with that name.

"So you just - forgot?" I don't think she can do that. Dogged detective Debra. Someday she'll come across the string that unravels all my lies. I'm starting to think this isn't it.

"I'm good at compartmentalizing." I was when there was only really the one compartment, at least. Since then, it's all been bleeding together, family and friends and murder.

"No shit! Why the fuck did you act surprised, Dex? You can't be that good."

I'm better, but I shouldn't brag. "I didn't know about Dad and Laura. That means... Dad must have known about Brian. And he never said." Harry couldn't have trained me if I'd had other options. An older brother, a junkie father hours away. After years of living by the Code of Harry, I was only a heartbeat away from joining my brother.

Deb's stopped talking again - I don't think I've missed anything but profanity. Which is not unjustified. An early warning about Brian Moser would have helped both of us. But I need to change the subject. I don't want to leave Debra thinking about how much Dad lied, or guessing how much I have.

"And - Deb, I think I was there, when she was killed. That's why the Ice Truck Killer's room..." There is no gesture for 'visceral terror,' but Deb remembers. She's known me for decades. For a second it feels like that - like what she knows is real, and important. Not just the shell I use for cover.

"Jesus. It wasn't in the reports, but - I'll look, Dex."

"I'd rather you didn't. I think Brian was there too. It would explain his - " I want to smile at Deb's oh-god-don't-say-it look, but that would be inappropriate. "- thing. I'm worried about Harrison. How much he saw."

"He'll be fine, Dex." Hand on my arm. I'm in the clear now. "I mean, you only turned out a little weird, and he's not even a year old. He won't remember. There's nothing to be worried about."

There, Deb: that's as close as I can let you get. One less secret hanging over my head is one more piece for your puzzle. I have to be more careful. But now I can smile. I can act relieved, like I haven't already been told that Harrison's normal, by people who are probably qualified and at least didn't grow up with a serial killer and his trainer. I can keep my family and all my secrets safe, for now.

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><p>AN: One part to go, I think. Thanks for reading!<p> 


	3. Rule Number One

Quick warning: this part has spoilers through the end of Season Five (the one after the one with Trinity).

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><p>Deb thinks I'm depressed. Cody and Aster are coming home for the summer. Harrison has a Disney-film nanny that might keep him from turning out like me. Deb's boyfriend values his own skin and her happiness more than solving the murder of a dirty cop. Jordan Chase is dead. Lumen went home, the first person to survive seeing the real me. I'm not depressed.<p>

But that's the excuse for taking the boat out on her day off. A Morgan family vacation, with beer and takeout sandwiches, and no phone calls unless it's a Harrison emergency. She's probably going to tell me she's marrying Quinn.

Instead she wants to talk work, celebrate. The barrel girls case is solved, and Jordan Chase is underground. I smile and play along, but I'd rather talk about Quinn or Lumen or how depressed I feel. Anything but the murder my sister caught me in the middle of. "Yeah, he really has disappeared. Probably a new face and everything."

Debra grins, her eyes shining. "Nuh uh. Dex, under _ground_. My vigilantes got him."

Her vigilantes. I guess we sort of are. Were. "I worked that scene, Deb. Traces of blood on the stretcher, but no way to know if it was a clean-up or a set-up. If he were killed there, you'd expect more - walls, floor, maybe the ceiling. It's hard to clean up properly."

Deb interrupts my attempt to remain calm and boring. "Dex, promise you won't fucking tell anyone, ever."

I should have expected this. Deb isn't me, and isn't Harry, and it's too good a secret to keep. "Okay. Is this a crazy hunch don't tell Laguerta secret? Or a have-your-badge secret?"

She grins at how surprised I'll be. "They'd fucking string me up in the stationhouse, Dex."

I mirror her smile, as best I can. "Can't have that - not my little sister. I promise."

She leans in. It's high noon on a sunny day; the Morgans are telling ghost stories. "Jordan's dead, Dex. When I got to the scene, the bastard was dead on the stretcher, and the vigilantes were cleaning up. Two of them, a man and a woman, just like I said. I told them to fucking finish up and clear out."She takes a breath. "There was plastic everywhere, Dex. Really fucking creepy. And they didn't say a word, so I couldn't ID them if I wanted to."

"Wow. That's... that's good." This is when Deb's face drops: she's disappointed that I don't act more surprised. I never do; she always is. But this time she's serious, on top of that.

"You think I made the right call, Dex?"I'm the last person who should be answering that question. I gave Trinity a long leash.

"Good instincts." Deb does have good instincts. And she saw my work - saw a part of me through my work - and let me go. Do I trust in that instinct too? "I hope they won't make you regret it."

"Yeah, me too. But I think they're done. They got Jordan Chase."

They should be done. But one of them was me. "And Cole Harmon. And probably Boyd Fowler. Not getting caught is rule number one." I shouldn't play devil's advocate, but I do want Deb to be careful.

She scoffs. "Rule one of what?"

"'Not being a team player at work' according to Dad. Probably murder too." Also according to Harry Morgan. She gets this look, like she's thinking about something, or didn't want the reminder of Dad's girlfriends. I'm not her only blind spot. "He _was_ a good cop. Sometimes... that means making your own call, maybe."

I start thinking about how to turn the subject to Aster, but Deb isn't finished. "So what have you not gotten caught doing? Running Masuka's STD panels?"

"He does that himself, and telling a detective is kind of the opposite of not getting caught. Want another beer?"

"Yeah." But when I get back, she hasn't dropped the subject. It only gave her time to regroup.

"So what case?"

"Huh?" I wasn't prepared for the subject to continue. Isn't it time to talk about how to keep a teenage girl out of trouble for an entire summer?

She laughs. "What case did _you_ fuck with, Dex? All I'm asking." I can't give her Quinn, can't give her Trinity. I can't tell her. I'm taking too long. "Dex?"

"Yeah." Instinct. I have the instincts for murder, not confession, but I have to trust myself. There's no time to be sure it's right, all safe. "Yeah. Deb. It was Ice Truck."

I think she knew what I was going to say before I did; the look on her face doesn't change. "Holy Fuck Dex. What did you do? What was there to do? He's dead, he fucking killed himself."

"The - the fingerprints on the knife were off."

"Boring details, Dex,"she says, jittery.

"Let me finish. If you cut your own throat - " Like I'm doing right now, watch carefully. "You hold it like this, cut this way. Decent print on the index, partial middle. That knife had good prints all the way down."I mash my fingers into the plastic knife with the other hand.

"You're calling homicide because we got a full print instead of a partial. Dexter Morgan, are you a fucking moron or what?"

It's my turn, and the words try to choke me. I look at the deck, the tiny pools of water in the corner from melting ice, the leaves I didn't clean out before we left. "He - wasn't done with us. I couldn't let him -" Of course, that's why. Even nice, normal, non-serial-killer Dexter would have had to do something. If he could have. That doesn't make waiting for Debra to say something any easier.

"You killed him and faked the scene."

I nod.

"Motherfucking shit. Have you told anyone that?"

No.

"Rita?"

I manage a breath. "No."

"The psycho whore?"

Lilah. "Absolutely not."

"Written it down?"

"No, Deb." The world doesn't end when you confess to murder. Especially not to a homicide detective. It just gets a lot more tedious.

"Good. Because it didn't happen. Understand? It didn't. fucking. happen. That fucking creep killed himself, and you never say it any other way. Promise me, Dex. Look at me and promise."

And this, this is what she looked like on the other side of the plastic. I see her. I nod. "I promise."

She hugs me. "Thanks, Dex."

And that's the end. I know I could lie to her about never doing it again, maybe even persuade her to not make me promise that. But she doesn't even ask. I sail into the sunset, or at least into a three-kid summer. I'm not depressed.

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><p>AN: Like Dexter says, that's the end. Thanks for reading!<p> 


End file.
